Behavior and Laws

In a typically crowded mall, late afternoon, on one of the many holidays We have freckling the calendar. I enter a music store to see if anything good shows up in the bargain bin. I pass a few drum sets and other musical instruments set up in the display window. All of them have handwritten signs taped to them: No toque. Do not touch.

Behind Me, a kinetically-unchallenged miniature baboon races into the store and immediately starts banging his paws on a drum. The mother, a frump with every right to stay home and reduce the collective eye-strain of looking at her, heaves a deep sigh, shakes her head and walks towards the back of the store.

Baboon-boy is banging bongos. So I kicked him.

No, not really. I wanted to. I have a well-behaved seven-year-old boy and I've never wanted to kick him, but for baboon-boy? I say 20 yards. And that's unfair because the truly deserving target of a drop-kick in the ass is his apish mother, who probably whelped the child and gave up on trying to teach him civility, manners and respect before the banana-peeler shed his baby fuzz.

I moved down to the toy store, looking for something for My son. (No, really.) Despite 9 employees, practically every square inch of floor space was occupied by boxes, plushies, scattered playthings and people, adults and kids sitting on the floor in an apparent attempt to create a kaleidoscopic obstacle course.

One young father pulled out a batch of action figures (screw it: dolls) for his son to look at. The child made a face, grabbed the packets and flung them to the floor. What did Spineless Sire do? He followed his son to another aisle, the discarded toys adding to the pile in Aisle 3.

It's terribly easy to criticize these actions, but here's the basic point: Why do We need signs on every freaking drum and musical instrument to tell Us "Hands off!"? Why do Our stores so often look like they've been hit by a Richter 7.9? Why are We so hideously bad at keeping Our (k)ids in check?

Sure, you see this behavior--or lack of it--more often at the freak show called Wal-Mart, or at the crybaby convention called Toys 'R' Us, but it's inexcusable in any store. Yes, kids will be kids and they will, occasionally, mess things up. And maybe "The Broken Window Theory" applies, where chaos increases because chaos (in the form and metaphor of the broken windows on an abandoned building) are visible and thus "allow" further negative actions. In that case, quick intervention by employees could reduce the disorder.

But that's like trying to hold back the rising tide with a sponge mop. We simply misbehave in such great numbers that any action taken to overcome it are quickly seen as futile. And that leads to wondering: What does this say about Our society?

And here's an interesting facet to add to the discussion: We have the most extensive set of civil laws (by number of laws and the number and length of their clauses and subclauses) of any state or territory in the U.S.

We misbehave often. We have more laws than almost anyone else. Discuss.


The Jenius Has Spoken.

Puerto Rico's Casu Marzu

From Cracked Magazine's website, their selection of The 6 Most Terrifying Foods in the World. With My editing tossed in for local "flavor":


#5. Casu Marzu

From:
Sardinia, Italy.

What the hell is it?
This, dear reader, is a medium-sized lump of Sweet Fucking Christ. Casu Marzu is a sheep's milk cheese that has been deliberately infested by a Piophila casei, the "cheese fly." The result is a maggot-ridden, weeping stink bomb in an advanced state of decomposition.

Its translucent larvae are able to jump about 6 inches into the air, making this the only cheese that requires eye protection while eating. The taste is strong enough to burn the tongue, and the larvae themselves pass through the stomach undigested, sometimes surviving long enough to breed in the intestine, where they attempt to bore through the walls, causing vomiting and bloody diarrhea.

Wait, it gets worse...
This cheese is a delicacy in Sardinia, where it is illegal. That's right. It is illegal in the only place where people actually want to eat it. If this does not communicate a very clear message, perhaps the larvae will, as they leap desperately toward your face in an effort to escape the putrescent horror of the only home they have ever known. Even the cheese itself is ashamed; when prodded, it weeps an odorous liquid called lagrima, Sardinian for "tears."

Danger of this turning up in America:
It's already here. A "maggot-ridden, weeping stink bomb in an advanced state of decomposition"? Say "Hello!" to the Legislature of Puerto Rico.

The Jenius Has Quoted.

Ay Bendito Revisited

Happy Birthday, Vi Marie!


My previous comments about Our Ay bendito--that so-personal phrase that encompasses so much--drew a bit of praise and some brickbats.

Praise, I deserve. Brickbats? Well, those might be deserved as well. One particular point was brought up by Liliana, who wrote (and I translated):


Our Ay bendito is not a way to enjoy someone else's suffering. It is not infinite tolerance. It's something good that has always characterized Our people and that We've been losing, in part because, some years ago, the phrase began to be criticized and ridiculed. Ay bendito is compassion and solidarity. It continues to exist despite efforts to eradicate it. Ay bendito is what compels Us to rush in and help Our neighbor and those affected by disaster or crime. It also makes Us reject the death penalty because it is a definitive punishment that leaves no margin for forgiveness and spiritual growth.

Viva the Puerto Rican Ay bendito.


Liliana's right, but she brings three points to the discussion that I didn't cover:

1) "Infinite tolerance": The fact that Ay bendito implies (or can imply) a level of tolerance so vast it is nothing more than bovine passivity is what eventually sparked a cynical reaction to its use. Spilled milk? Ay bendito. Injustice? Ay bendito. Outright thievery and thuggery? Ay bendito. Liliana is right: There is a difference between compassion and indifference. I didn't point out the compassion part, but focused instead on the pretense of compassion.

2) "Rush in and help Our neighbor": Time and again, Puerto Rico is amongst the most generous providers of food, clothing, medical supplies and volunteers for practically every disaster in this hemisphere. On a per capita basis, We often provide twice as much aid as any other country, despite some of them (listen up, U.S. of part of A. and Canada) having much vaster resources at the per capita and national levels. Stick that in your Ay bendito discussion.

3) "Efforts to eradicate it": As above, Ay bendito has been made to represent a negative--passivity--rather than a host of positives. I don't think it was a concerted "plan," but rather a reflection of comparison. When Puerto Rico was isolated in its misery, Ay bendito may have been the only "glue" to keep Us together. Exposure to "American" ways, growth and lifestyle, all as part of cultural mores that are different from Ours , may have engendered or exacerbated a sense of inferiority that was neither real nor necessary. At that point, Ay bendito may have been seen as the slogan of Our past rather than the basis for Our future. Alternate and parallel theory: Things have gotten so bad for so many of Us that We use Ay bendito as criticism while waiting for someone (else) to solve the problems. Think passivity plus cynicism.

And We're (almost) back to My original argument. Should We "eradicate" Our Ay bendito? It can't be done, so trying to is useless. Can We stop people from using it as a mask of hypocrisy? Ditto. Can We stop seeing it as a negative and base Our truest potential for growth on its spiritual power? I don't see as We have a choice.


The Jenius Has Spoken.

Think Your Own Way

I confess that I can't pinpoint where I found this, but it's well worth reading. This anecdote dates from a long time ago, but its message is even more relevant now: Think your own way.


Some time ago I received a call from a colleague. He was about to give a student a zero for his answer to a physics question, while the student claimed a perfect score. The instructor and the student agreed to an impartial arbiter, and I was selected.

I read the examination question: "SHOW HOW IT IS POSSIBLE TO DETERMINE THE HEIGHT OF A TALL BUILDING WITH THE AID OF A BAROMETER." The student had answered, "Take the barometer to the top of the building, attach a long rope to it, lower it to the street, and then bring it up, measuring the length of the rope. The length of the rope is the height of the building."

The student really had a strong case for full credit since he had really answered the question completely and correctly! On the other hand, if full credit were given, it could well contribute to a high grade in his physics course and to certify competence in physics, but the answer did not confirm this. I suggested that the student have another try.

I gave the student six minutes to answer the question with the warning that the answer should show some knowledge of physics. At the end of five minutes, he had not written anything. I asked if he wished to give up, but he said he had many answers to this problem; he was just thinking of the best one. I excused myself for interrupting him and asked him to please go on.

In the next minute, he dashed off his answer which read: "Take the barometer to the top of the building and lean over the edge of the roof. Drop the barometer, timing its fall with a stopwatch.Then, using the formula x=0.5*a*t^^2, calculate the height of the building."

At this point, I asked my colleague if he would give up. He conceded and gave the student almost full credit. While leaving my colleague's office, I recalled that the student had said that he had other answers to the problem, so I asked him what they were.

"Well," said the student, "there are many ways of getting the height of a tall building with the aid of a barometer. For example, you could take the barometer out on a sunny day and measure the height of the barometer, the length of its shadow, and the length of the shadow of the building, and by the use of simple proportion, determine the height of the building."

"Fine," I said, "and others?"

"Yes," said the student, "there is a very basic measurement method you will like. In this method, you take the barometer and begin to walk up the stairs. As you climb the stairs, you mark off the length of the barometer along the wall. You then count the number of marks, and this will give you the height of the building in barometer units."

"A very direct method."

"Of course. If you want a more sophisticated method, you can tie the barometer to the end of a string, swing it as a pendulum, and determine the value of g at the street level and at the top of the building. From the difference between the two values of g, the height of the building, in principle, can be calculated. On this same tack, you could take the barometer to the top of the building, attach a long rope to it, lower it to just above the street, and then swing it as a pendulum. You could then calculate the height of the building by the period of the precession."

"Finally," he concluded, "there are many other ways of solving the problem. Probably the best is to take the barometer to the basement and knock on the superintendent's door. When the superintendent answers, you speak to him as follows: 'Mr. Superintendent, here is a fine barometer. If you will tell me the height of the building, I will give you this barometer."

At this point, I asked the student if he really did not know the conventional answer to this question. He admitted that he did, but said that he was fed up with high school and college instructors trying to teach him how to think.

The student was Neils Bohr.


Look him up if the name means nothing to you. His birthday is October 7th, so think of this as My way of celebrating your own way of thinking.

(The "correct" method is to measure barometric pressure at street level and rooftop level and convert the difference into height based on their relative pressures. Three other methods I could suggest: (1) Measure the barometer, then measure the apparent height of the barometer from a known distance. Measure the apparent height of the building from the same distance. Simple math will give the approximate height of the building. (2) Throw or fire the barometer, tied with string, to the rooftop. Measure the string. Variation: Tie the barometer to a helium balloon that floats to the rooftop. (3) Find the final building plans; use the barometer to make sure the plans don't roll up as you write down the answer.)


The Jenius Has Spoken.

Rogelio Figueroa: The PPR's Kamikaze, Part II

More free advice to Rogelio Figueroa and his soon-to-be-undone PPR party: Pick your battles wisely or your opponents will pick your bones gladly.

The example at hand is Rogelio leading a Light Brigade charge against the local Independence "Party," alleging that the PIP committed fraud in re-registering itself for the coming elections.

Educational pause: Parties that do not receive at least a 3% level of voter support--like the Independence "Party" does with recent regularity--must compile 100,000 signatures and have them certified by the State Electoral Commission in order to receive public funding and ballot space.

The PPR fought a long hard battle to overcome the many obstacles--some of which were and are bogus--in order to register itself. Instead of recognizing the process for what it is--dirty infighting with public monies--and staying away from it, Rogelio leads his band of Fools into a head-first confrontation with the only party that could conceivably help it break the stalemate.

For you see, the PPR has yet to receive its alloted funds--no surprise there. What is a surprise, and a mockery of smart thinking and planning, is the attack on the PIP as an extension of demanding the monies that are the PPR's by right.

No, I take that back: It isn't a surprise. It's simply near-sighted and a thus a perfect example of the PPR's political "strategy."

Sit down, Rogelio, and let Me enlighten you: The PIP was not your enemy. Never was. But you made it that by challenging their right to co-exist in the swamphole We call politics. What you wanted was money: What you got was shot down in court, no public monies and a once-proud, now-vacuous party jumping on the "Let's stomp the PPR" bandwagon.

What you did was stupid. Rather than pick a fight you could win and thus enhance the survival of your party, you picked the wrong fight, aimed at the wrong target, chose the wrong battlefield and topped off the whole stupid orgy of Foolishness by being slapped with the punishment of paying the PIP's legal costs.

You make the Earl of Cardigan look like Napoleon.

You abandoned the unassailable high ground of "We earned and deserve this funding" for the low crawl of "I want want he wants." Maybe you won't pay a cent of legal costs, but you and the PPR will pay for this and other similar mistakes. Because if you continue to act like a long-established party--like a fetid stable of Fecal-Filled Fools--you will simply make it easier and easier for the voters to ignore you and for the opposition--now unanimously united against you--to scatter your ashes to the wind.

And unlike the Light Brigade, no one will write a poem in praise of your stupid death.


The Jenius Has Spoken.

Zip Gun

This won't take long...

Slightly past 8:23 in the evening. I'm driving through Caguas, a large, sprawling city between San Juan and Ponce. I'm looking for an apartment and have taken a turn just off the main street to explore a small enclave of a neighborhood, one combining houses with small apartment buildings and a few public buildings...

I drive down the side street, a short one leading into a T intersection. At the end of the street stand three young men, two in conversation, the other clearly acting as a lookout. Movement from My right is a scooter, one of thousands now zipping around, with two young men on it. Neither is wearing a helmet. They roll in, circle around to the two young men in conversation and as they turn to look down the left-hand street--where the lookout pointed--I notice the driver of the scooter is carrying a gun in his left hand. A long-barreled gun.

Right or left? Right I head into a maze of short streets; left I head towards the highway. Both may be blocked or changed by construction...

I see the gun a couple of seconds before they see Me, the scooter circling left to almost face Me. Only then do I notice how empty the street is, how dark it is outside the spot where they congregate, how thoroughly shuttered the houses look with their 5-foot walls, razor wire and double-locked iron grillwork.

The scooter drifts a little, driver, backseat rider and three other guys staring at Me. My foot flits over to the accelerator...

The driver--the gunman--suddenly leans right and zips the scooter up to speed, tracking down the left-hand leg of the T. He's heading after someone: His passenger is urging him to hurry.

I glance at the three other young men, noting their relaxed posture. They seem to be powering down to wait.

I let the car roll a few feet, then speed up. To follow the scooter.

It's where I was going anyway.


The Jenius Has Spoken.

Self-Harm?

Is it fair to say that Puerto Rico has a self-destructive streak?

On the surface, My first answer (and that of most of Us) would be to say "No, no more than any other country." For all intents and purposes, this question is as intangible as an imaginary soap bubble, but within that intangibility there lies a rock-solid observation: We hurt Ourselves too often.

This conclusion is entirely subjective, for each of Us has a different point of perceiving how much hurt is too much. You may even argue that a society such as Ours, that isn't war-torn, drug-addled, tyrant-controlled and/or unnaturally-devastated cannot really be "self-destructive." But even within the subjective mode, even with the overall condition of "functionality" that We tend to exhibit, We can still see an alarming tendency to self-destructive behavior. And the fact is indisputable: It's getting worse.

People flee Our island for northern climes. Not the poor and thus desperate, but the marginally well-to-do and the oft-proclaimed "highly-educated."

Violent deaths remain high, but the overall pattern of these deaths is spreading beyond its concentrated nucleus of drugs to encompass a larger segment of Our society.

The Fools are increasingly vicious in their utter incapacity to simply focus on Our most pressing problems. They spend more time and energy on fancy clothes, internal squabbling and name-calling than on education, health care and security. As for the economy, they are criminals, outright de facto criminals acting against Our best interests and Our properties.

And the criminality pervades Our police force, as it does Our unions, Our medical profession, Our legal system and even Our churches.

Our unions are led by hypocritical hyenas who shred their constituents with howling pleasure.

Our medical profession is gutted by greed, supervised by thieves, managed by morons and subjected to increasing pressure in salvaging a desperate situation created by the profession...up in the U.S.

Our legal system works for money and for no other reason.

And Our churches spend more time butting into politics and political issues--with some barging headlong into bedrooms where they never belong--instead of striking a path that rises above the mundane.

Is this the behavior of self-growth? Are these observations overly-harsh?

Nearly every major union in Puerto Rico (teachers, electrical workers, aqueduct and sewer employees, government employees) is run by a pack of extremely well-paid, long-ruling hyenas. The only subjective word in that previous sentence was "pack." (The correct term is cackle. Haha.)

The local medical profession is increasingly built on sub-par performers who can't make the leap to the U.S., following those who often do to chase dollars. The trapped ones remain in an addle-pated government-shat system that undercuts their authority, forces them to under-treat or ignore patients with the cronyism of insurance companies and yet everybody involved expects the local galenos to somehow fix what was broken decades ago in the U.S. of part of A.

That Our legal system works for money--and nothing else--is not an original or incisive observation. It is a merely a "no clothes"-level remark about a system that cannot dispense justice because it lacks any viable mechanism for either recognizing or defining it. It's like asking a whore for love while she does you: If you got money, you'll get "love." And a disease.

And lastly, Our churches, chasing dollars, huddling up with Fools, splitting hairs to the point of micrografting and making such a racket that the quiet lessons of Truth are simply buried under fetid noise. Funny how the churches are often against so much and yet stand for so little. Seems that the positive messages of love, charity and tolerance that are part of every major religion in the world have become in Our island forgotten seeds in the hands of mud-slinging frauds.

Overly-harsh? Not at all. If anything is over the top here it's the sheer consistency of Our path to self-harm. If anything is overwhelming here it's the sad empty answer to the question "What are We doing to overcome it?"


The Jenius Has Spoken.

DCA On The Way

Thanks to My Special Friend, María, good news landed in My inbox: The clinical trials for dichloracetate (DCA) are beginning in Canada.

I wrote about this back in January, 2007, about how researchers at the University of Alberta discovered that DCA was extremely effective at "de-zombifying" the mitochondria of cancer cells, in effect, making them very vulnerable to radio- and chemotherapy. Basically, DCA makes cancer cells "live" so that treatment can kill them much more easily.

The repercussions are staggering on three levels:

1) Enhanced treatment of a wide range of cancers, including those cases where tumors are too close to delicate tissues for surgery.

2) Substantial decreases in medical costs and side-effects for patients.

3) DCA is so inexpensive it can be produced for as little as $2.00 a dose; it is a generic chemical that is very easy to manufacture to medical quality.

And as explained before, therein lies the rub: No pharmaceutical company would touch DCA because there's no true profit margin in developing it. I postulated that Puerto Rico could offer to put up the $600-$700 million needed to run the clinical trials, making of it Our version of the U.S.'s Lunar Landing project. A gift to the world, I called it.

A gift We never even bothered to consider giving.

My voice was too small, too insignificant to make this gift a reality. But think of this: The Canadian researchers are moving ahead although their entire budget so far is a little over $800,000. In other words, they are proceeding despite having barely 0.1% of the needed funding.

One-tenth of one percent.

Many people say scientists lack faith, but what other concept applies to this kind of effort? In their journey of a thousand miles, they have decidedly taken a first step. And there is no doubt--there can be no doubt--that they are doing so because they absolutely believe the DCA clinical trials are the right thing to do.

Conviction. Faith. Belief. Determination. Courage. Inspiration.

How I wish those words were about Us, rather than Canada. Maybe they still can be. I sure hope they can be.


The Jenius Has Spoken.


Postscript: I encountered this story on how private citizens in the Alberta area are giving money to help the funding of these clinical trials. Nothing We couldn't do if We chose to.

Survey This

A survey reveals that 75% of Us don't trust Our police.

And the other 25%? They're either lying or don't want the police to hear their truth.

Now here's My objection to all this: Why the hell is a survey being done and trumpeted in the first place?

Given the hideous run of police-related events in the past year, is a survey really needed to tell Us what We already know or can figure out? Doesn't the survey serve only one purpose: To kick the downtrodden police image further into the gutter? Isn't the survey, in fact, salt in a wound rather than even a pale shadow of what passes for journalism here?

The survey follows a long line of similar such moronic fare, such as the ones done when gas prices shot up (We were against the high prices), when taxes were imposed (We didn't like it) and when the government shut down (We blamed the politicians.) The intent is never to inform, but to inflame; never to reveal, but to revel. It's not journalism, it's business; the difference is the difference between probity and profit.

But why complain? It's not like I run or work for the pissy rag that does these surveys. It's not like I do the stupid surveys or even participate in them. Why complain when it really has nothing to do with Me?

I complain because these stupid surveys are more often than not the only mirrors We think We have to see Ourselves in. When the mirror is simply distorted--manipulated, even--it doesn't matter how many times We look into it for the image We get will always be of falsehood. The reductio ad absurdum of these surveys is an injury to Our soul, and the insult to the injury comes when such lies are coated in the guise of truth, as in "what Puerto Ricans think and feel."

No, these surveys don't really reveal what We think and feel: They only reveal what We say when confronted with a particular question, a feeble, biased and incomplete question that purports to encompass a complex issue. To do this is a demagogue's game, a politician's trick foisted from what should be the respectable bastion of the Fourth Estate. Demagoguery and political shenanigans are a Fool's Paradise that journalism--responsible, professional, ethical journalism--never engages in.


The Jenius Has Spoken.

Writer, Not Waiter

Lately I've been writing fiction again. (No, not here.) Despite some success in creating stories others are willing to read, I'd abandoned that practice in favor of more remunerative work. In other words, I wrote primarily to get paid. (No, not here.)

Writing is a solitary effort; it can be nothing else. Yes, ideas can be discussed, drafts can be bandied back and forth between writers, editors and readers, but in the end, one person will sit down--alone--and produce words leading to a finality. And unless those words receive some form of return, whether it's money, fame, notoriety, gratitude or criticism, there's an emptiness that exacerbates the void created in the effort.

Blogs are a form of immediate feedback, a way of reducing the writer's solitude because the very act of blogging implies an ever-present audience. Unlike other forms of writing--say a magazine article or a book--the blogger's audience is merely a "Post this" click away. I have stories written almost 20 years ago that have never been read by anyone but Me, but I am certain that every post in Jenius and GCSPrank has been read dozens, if not hundreds of times. In that sense, these pieces here may have been more "successful" than My stories.

But is that why I stopped writing stories? Because I wanted or needed an immediate audience? No, not really. I stopped writing stories because My time required a better investment. And yet, I continued to write here, where the investment return is certainly not money. Why?

Because writing here is how I manage to assuage the need to write. It's been said that people who wait to write are waiters, not writers. Even on My days of rest, I write, even if it's a short note or some potential ideas for posts, columns, articles or stories. I need to write like I need to eat: I seldom have to do it right this minute, but I have to it every day.

Some of My best writing, I think, has come in letters, or e-mails. Because the audience is there, is often well-known and sometimes well-loved, the act of writing becomes free, spontaneous and pleasurable. Other forms of writing lack that sense of connection, and in fact, may suffer from trying to make it happen. "Writing to the reader" is often the sign of a bad writer, but unless the writer can create a meaningful connection to the reader, his/her work will go unread.

The trick of course, is to not focus on the reader so much as to be aware of the reader and let the act of writing find its own voice and pace. To achieve that without feedback is so hard that maybe blogging is a way of "exercising the writing muscles" with less risk than a short story or a novel.

I obviously speak of bloggers who are writers and not just exhibitionists, the difference being evident in the quality and tone of the posts. Unfortunately, it is the latter who seem to garner the most attention and smudge the image of the rest of Us.

As to why someone would continue to labor in solitude, writing an ever-growing number of words about a topic near and dear to the heart, with little hope of fame or fortune, then one must look a little deeper, beyond a simple to need to write to a more significant source. In My case, it's the need to at least make the effort to bring about change. And though I feel it's My unique motivation, I think it's far more common than I would allow Myself to imagine.


The Jenius Has Spoken.

Ay Bendito's Real Meaning

A policeman, with a Complaints Lodged Against record dating back almost 11 years, frequent incidents of explosive rage and a noted tendency to personalize confrontations, shoots and kills his immediate superior. While at work.

And rumors spread that policemen in other precincts cheered.

I wrote about this unseemly, dangerous tolerance that sullies the men in blue and as much as I'd like to say it's their problem, it's obvious that it is, in fact, Our problem.

What We see in the police, with its frequent killings and corruption, is nothing more than an extension of what We are as a society. If by that I'm saying We're violent and corrupt, then so be it: What We tolerate so extensively must be what We are willing to be. And Our primary signal of tolerance is the often-feckless "Ay bendito."

I seldom refer to the ay bendito syndrome, the Puerto Rican "oh well" that slashes Our throats more often than it tightens them, simply because it's been mentioned so often that I feel I have nothing to add.

Except now.

Ay bendito--in ideal form--stems from a deeply-held empathic sense and thus is a shining aspect of Our nature. What has happened in Our history is that this heart-felt empathy has evolved into a more complex, darker set of feelings, one that races away from empathy to embrace schadenfreude, that inimitable German noun for "taking pleasure in another's misfortune."

Ay bendito is just as untranslatable as schadenfreude, but for different reasons. Ay bendito depends greatly on mood and situation for its meaning, from tender concern to frustration to tired acceptance. In that complex range of expression lies its capacity to reveal...and hide. For if it reveals a state of mind or mood, it can also hide a multitude of unseemly feelings, allowing for the secret delight in another's woe.

We live in a society that also espouses the phrase Pena es hermana de "Jódete"--Pity is the sister of "Screw you." We're not entirely blind to Our faults; We just do the normal thing and try to keep them hidden as often as possible.

And why should We be surprised at this attitude? Aren't We convinced that Life is a zero-sum game, where your loss is My gain? When societal politesse clashes with inner celebration, what better way to comply publicly and enjoy privately than a well-expressed Ay bendito?

But sometimes, We forget or don't care to comply with being polite. Instead, We cheer a man's wrongful death...or make up rumors to that effect. We express sympathy for the painful defeats of others while Our guts whoop it up in visceral happiness. We're not evil, not really: We're just...people.

For you see, the ay bendito syndrome is Our version of schadenfreude, which is the German version of "Dancing on the grave." We're not unique, those of Us who live here in the boggy swamp error of zero-sum thinking and secret delight. We just cloak it differently, placing a blanket of pseudo-empathy over what is--and always has been--an ugly joy. The Germans gave it a name: We simply gave it an alias.


The Jenius Has Spoken.

Congroined

The banking cabal has asked the government to "Separate politics and the economy" for the good of Puerto Rico.

Tee. Hee.

That's like Judas decrying the use of silver for coins or Enron complaining about lackluster accounting procedures. Banking and the government are so entwined that they are virtually Siamese twins joined at the groin. And they are incestuous.

Remember, this is a country with a dominant central bank--Banco Popular--and lesser lights joining it because it has the muscle to make things happen. Doubt that? Okay, check and see who spearheaded the following banking changes: insurance sales, high-rate personal loans and maximum mortgage consolidation. Yep, Banco Popular. And who benefited most from these changes? Go ahead: Guess. Wait! Another hint: They practically own the personal loan and mortgage markets locally. Okay, now guess.

Now, check out who dominates ATM processing, credit cards, construction loans and small business loans. Uh-huh: Banco Popular. Now add to this the related item of holding the largest total of former Section 936 funds (tax break profits that fueled Puerto Rico for decades) and you have an 800-pound gorilla leading a pack of baboons into a massive den of squirrely monkeys. The end result: Some serious shit is gonna fly.

And guess who's the "fan" being hit in this mon(k)ey pit?

When the local economy is running at 30 mph, very few of Us give a tinker's damn if banks are making money or treating Us like cattle. But let the economy drop to its current 15 mph slowdown and you get all sorts of complaints, many of them aimed at banks. And though some people have tried to convince Me otherwise, the complaints against the banking industry are entirely justified.

Three indisputable points have kept My conclusion intact:

1) Most banking industry monies in Puerto Rico are invested outside of Puerto Rico. There's a dual cause here: Major corporate funds using Puerto Rico as a conduit back to Company Headquarters and the limited local investment panorama when compared to U.S. or international markets. I don't criticize banks for making this latter decision: Their job is to make money for shareholders. What I do criticize is that they (the banks) make no effort to truly develop the local investment panorama, using their political influence almost entirely for shareholder profit. Here's a tip, banking baboons: Shareholder profit AND local development are a high effort-high gain combination and only you can keep it from being high-risk.

2) When one bank dominates consumer, construction and government fiscal processes, you have a Third World--dependent--economy and the ideal framework for corruptive practices. Banco Popular or its subsidiary/partner network dominate all three. Our government is corrupt. By extension, so is the banking industry. It's simply the natural result of being congroined (conjoined at the groin.)

3) If We are not a Third World economy because of a central dominant bank, then what makes Us a Second World or even First World economy? More specifically what economic sector drives Us to have a functional economy? And the answer isn't manufacturing or pharmaceuticals or Miss Universe pageants: It's the underground economy. A gray market said to equal or even surpass the "legal" economy is what--WITHOUT A DOUBT--keeps Our economy from crashing. Now I ask you this: Does an underground economy this vast happen if government and banking are working together for the people? Argue all you want, but you know the answer: It wouldn't happen because it wouldn't need to happen.

Separate banking and politics? Puh-leeze. Bankers, shut up. If you're miffed that the flow of green is down from torrent to stream, be adults and thrash it out in house, instead of being a whiny bunch of ass-kissing simians prancing in the media. You're definitely--WITHOUT A DOUBT--part of the problem. The dare is to see if you can ever become part of the solution.

Hell Yeah I Waved

On the expressway, just leaving Ponce. It's a straightaway, with a slight curve to the right. A dozen cars are bunched behind a Walgreen's truck and somebody who thinks 60 is the sound barrier.

A white Porsche darts out into the emergency lane and zips forward three cars, tucking itself behind the truck. I'm thinking about the $250 fine and the odds of anyone being caught in that place at that hour. Quick look up and My rearview mirror tells Me there's a cop just coming up in the distance. A matter of seconds...

Roll another fifteen seconds and the cluster starts breaking down as slowpoke up ahead decides that maybe 58 won't kill. Going slightly downhill, with about a kilometer of road easily visible ahead, I see a brown SUV slide right, then right again--into the emergency lane.

Up ahead, a short bridge. Two cars. Five people on the bridge. A tire being changed.

The SUV is too close.

Dust kicks as the SUV speeds up, the people on the bridge unaware how close they are to disaster. With less than a hundred feet to go, the SUV cuts left and only as it passes do the people on the bridge notice what happened.

I felt the soft glow of anger against stupidity. Didn't bother to feed it: What's the point? Some idiot breaks the law, risks lives and since nothing happened, what's going to happen?

A sudden braaap answers that question. The police car has moved up behind Me and before I can switch lanes, he does. A burly policeman, easily in the 260-280 weight range, passes Me, his fingers jabbing at the dashboard.

He. Is. Pissed.

Braaaps and quick driving get him through the now-broken cluster. I look down the road and see the brown SUV, in traffic, within the speed limit, rolling along. I can't hear the final braaap, but I see the patrol car's lights flash. They look pissed, too.

The SUV pulls over and stops quickly. The policeman is pissed, as he breaks protocol and doesn't angle his car behind the SUV. Instead, he brakes hard, straight behind the other car, a visual alert that this isn't going to be a warning.

Busted.

I drove by a few seconds later.

Honked My horn. Twice.

Hell yeah, I waved. One part raspberry, one part kudos.

Let them sort it out. I know what I meant.



The Jenius Has Spoken.

Scandalous

A man at the bank was lauding the "great leadership" displayed by a former (as in dead) local mayor saying "There was a never a scandal around him."

I hope the bank is profiting from this idiot's feeble-mindedness.

Great leaders and scandals are not--read My lips, not--mutually exclusive. Let's examine this:

The man in the bank sees "no scandals" as evidence of great leadership. In olden days, one could reasonably equate a lack of scandal with moral rectitude and this could, in some cases. be construed as great leadership. Jump forward to the late 20th century, when media and multimedia pry into every corner and you find that Gandhi slept (as in snoring) with nubile girls, F.D.R. had a mistress, J.F.K. had numerous affairs and both Churchill and Lincoln were manic-depressives who sought to end their lives. Scandals? Maybe. Revealed in their day? No way.

Did great leaders of the past have scandals in their lives? Yes, almost all did. Does this make them less great as leaders? No. It simply makes them human.

So why are We lacking great leaders now? Is it, as the befuddled man in the bank believes, because of the enormous propensity and range of scandals We see and hear about almost daily, from fraud to corruption to sex crimes to outright criminal activity? Partially. But there's much more that that.

As for scandals and great leadership, here's the bottom line: Scandals arise from improper decisions and behavior and from the attention others place on that activity. That last bit is italicized for a reason: It makes all the difference in the world. Man A drops his pants in an airport bathroom and implies a desire for a connection (I'm smirking right now) and nobody gives a damn. Let Man A be called--oh, I don't know, say...Larry Craig--and suddenly it's a scandal. It's not just the action, it's also the reaction. And where there's more attention, there's more chance for somebody, somewhere to cry "Scandal!"

In many cases, the cry is legitimate; in many others, it is not. The ratio depends on your point of view in each case. But here's where scandal and great leadership do collide: Great leaders may have personal scandals, but stay above-board in their roles as leaders. And there's a world of difference between a personal scandal and one that involves the country at large. The first are opprobious, but seldom criminal: The second are almost always both.

For example, great leaders don't lie to benefit a few and harm the many, as in the case of the current war in Iraq. The murderous moron earned his moniker with that one.

Great leaders don't rely on polls, surveys or vox populi to make the difficult decisions, for those who do are listening only to what they want to hear.

Great leaders don't excuse their incompetence with "History will judge me" vapidity: History is now and great leaders always know that.

Great leaders take responsibility, and in the this new age of "I'm a victim," leaders who play this card simply cannot--cannot--be great.

In a perfect world, a great leader would be without scandal. But We don't live in a perfect world, and where one man's hobby is another man's scandal, avoiding scandal is a slippery ledge. No scandals in a career? Rah. But great leadership depends on what the person has done beyond that. So when I asked the man what great works the "great" mayor had done, he couldn't come up with any. Just that: No scandals.

So a man was elected to a position of ostensible leadership, spent nearly 7 seven years there and left no true mark, good or bad. That is great leadership?

Obviously not. My standards, unlike that of the Department of Education, do not "come down" in order to preserve some image of excellence. The standards remain high: What has come down is the quality of those who pursue leadership, seduced by the empty fate of media hyperattention and enslaved to their id(iocy.)

Come to think of it, that is the perfect formula for... more scandals.


The Jenius Has Spoken.

Caught Myself

I just did something I've never done before: Erase an entire post.

I'd written the whole thing, verbal darts and snarky asides galore, aimed at government workers. Then, as I re-read it to sharpen a dart or two, I realized I was...gasp...wrong.

I know!

My tirade was against those government workers who drop by The Jenius, always during working hours, to spend 20-30 seconds looking around. You see, I was going to rail against them--a full 20% of My visitors--for being cowardly, because they never leave a comment or otherwise make themselves known.

Then it dawned on Me: They don't want to because they don't have to.

Yes, they're "wasting" time and tax dollars by surfing The Jenius instead of doing their jobs, but are We talking about the average government worker? Instead of slamming blindly, it occurred to Me that the government employee who visits/reads The Jenius is definitely not average. For one, s/he has a decent if not excellent grasp of English. That right there eliminates some 50-70% of all government employees.

For another, The Jenius reader working in government is aware of the deep flaws in the system and doesn't mind My pointing them out. Said reader would also have to be politically neutral or indifferent, for I take on all parties as The Fools. In essence, I could see their visits, not as cowardly escapes from drudgery, but as excursions to an oasis.

Am I being egotistical? Look at the title of this blog: Of course I tend towards ego. But from that stance, it is just as easy to lambaste these visitors as it is to laud them; the only thing that changes is My initial thought that this group was a tiny, terrified troop. Now I see that they are, in fact, a large percentage of a dedicated coterie.

Maybe they are neither. But in the end, I walk away with a different feeling: Instead of the sour emptiness of an angry putdown, I walk away with the idea of hopeful progress. For in the end, it's all about Me, right?


The Jenius Has Spoken.

Sometimes You Surf...

...and then sometimes you crash, heart and soul: The stories of children left in vehicles and how justice is not served, not once, not twice, not three times, but four...and counting.

Upper middle-class woman leaves her baby girl--not for the first time--in a sun-exposed vehicle. The girl dies. No charges. Strike one.

A doctor and her husband--on the same day as the above death--also leave their child in a vehicle and the child dies. No charges. Strike two.

A daycare owner leaves a child in the back seat of a parked van, is immediately arrested and charged with reckless endangerment, losing her daycare license as a result. The child suffered no harm, and in fact, was never outside of the woman's sight until the arrest. Strike three.

The same prosecutor in the same city of the first case pressed charges against a family whose daughter died after a prolonged stay in a sun-exposed car. This family is poor, so of course, the legal system "works." Strike four.

We're not doing any better here, what with three similar "forgetful" deaths in the past 24 months and nobody really knows how many other children endangered or outright harmed.

I'm turning off My computer for today--and tomorrow--and I'm simply going to play with My son and two nephews. And count My blessings, for a change.


The Jenius Has Spoken.